


Wonderland AU

by Sauou



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: AU, Alice in Wonderland References, Blood, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Magic, One-Sided Relationship, Wonderland, some people with animal characteristics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-26 08:06:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6230686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sauou/pseuds/Sauou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[“You’ve come a long way,” the cat says.]</p>
<p>A series of drabbles based on the universe devils-deeds-23 from tumblr created.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

And he’s lost in the thick of the woods, where only worms and birds seem to have ever gone before, the vines and weeds draping all around his path so thick and wild the world itself has never seen such a thing.

Jonathan hitches up his pants more, his stockings already shredded beyond all repair by the bramble and brush. Roots that twist up so suddenly from underneath like fingers, he’s half tempted to believe the trees are alive.

He’s been lost for hours, days maybe. Time itself seems to slip away from him the further into the forest he goes, and yet he can’t stop.

His feet sore, his body drooping, he stops to lean against a large gnarled tree that shifts away from him in the breeze.

“Fuck,” Jonathan mutters, and drops onto his ass in such a manner that his mother would be horrified if she saw him.

He stretches, feet pushing forward in the dirt, back pressed to the tree, and falls asleep.

.

There is a humming in his ears. A steady, strong, and hearty rhythm so low-toned it ripples through his bones.

Almost like .. a cat’s purr?

Jon opens his eyes reluctantly, they stick together, he had fallen so deeply asleep, it’s almost comfortable sitting here on the ground with this sound running through the air all around him.

When his eyes finally manage to focus, he sees ..

A cat!

In the damn air! Floating half in and half out of existence like a ghost that couldn’t decide which side of the world to live on.

He starts, one hand presses against the tree, heart beating wildly. The other shakes slightly, but reaches..

The cat grins.

And weaves through the air. Stripes shifting back and forth as he reaches a hand back.

“You’ve come a long way,” the cat says.

“Down a rabbit hole,” Jon admits under his breath, and takes the paw.

“Awful way to travel, isn’t it?” The cat laughs as he pulls Jon to his feet. “But by what name is a creature such as you called?”

“Jonathan.” The boy pronounces. “And now that I’ve given mine, you must tell me yours or it isn’t fair at all!”

“Luke.” The cat claims, curling and uncurling around itself until it’s doing a dance all around Jon. “And if you aren’t looking for a way home, what would someone like you be doing here?”

“I was .. I was looking for adventure,” Jon admits, spinning on his toes to keep Luke in sight.

“And yet, you found me.”

The cat stops, and lands in front of him. Turning fully corporeal. Becoming human, or at least as human as he seemed able to.

“I found you,” Jon agrees, stepping forward.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

There is slime and monster guts all up and down both sides of the alley by the time they emerge from the fight, bloody but victorious.

“So this is where you’re been all this time, Cartoonz, you bastard!” Comes from the mouth of the alleyway. A man dressed in royal garments, red and black, with hearts.

Delirious is no fool. He’s lived in a palace all his life, he can recognize someone from a court from a mile away.

Maybe it’s not from his palace, but there was a reason he ran away and he’s in no damn hurry to go back to sitting still and being poised and treated like a fragile doll.

He readies his knives, and retakes his battle stance, shoulder to shoulder with Cartoonz. Leaning on the older man, who glances at him as his feet spread, weight shifts forward, one knee higher than the other for better movement. One arm in front of his chest for defense, one out to the side to throw, knives clenched tight.

He shifts to the balls of his feet. Ready.

“Terrorizer!” Cartoonz yells out, and begins to turn invisible. With a grin, his tail coiling larger and larger.

Wrapping entirely around Delirious’ surprised face then his body, to encompass all of him, hide him from view.

The tail coils into one point, compressing again and again until there is nothing left.

Just the memory of the two, standing in the alley. Their blood still staining the ground where once they stood.

“Goddammit!” Brian kicks a rock across the alley and turns to head back to the castle.

“Asshole,” he mutters, slouching, hands in his pockets. “Of course you’d run off and make me deal with Marcel. He’s going to be pissed.”

He grumbles to himself. “I bet if it was Brock who found you..”


	3. Chapter 3

The knock comes twice at the door behind Delirious before it’s opening and Brock is walking in, saying, “Sorry to intrude, but I just wanted to see if you were ready– What are you _doing_?”

Delirious‘ entire face is painted white, and it almost looks like war paint, it’s such a stark contrast to the rest of him.

And he is sitting at a small table, ornate mirror before him, powders and creams arranged all around, and he spares Brock a quick glance before going back to what he was doing.

“I’m getting ready,” Delirious replies.

Drawing with red paint a symbol above his eyes, such a look of concentration on his face that Brock is afraid to interrupt, stepping quietly behind him until he is reflected too in the mirror.

“.. You look like you’re going to war,” Brock comments softly.

Delirious laughs so hard, he smears red up into his hair, his hand slipping as he buckles over, holding one edge of the table for support.

And Brock has to catch one of the paints, Delirious is laughing so hard, but almost drops one when he hears Delirious say,

“I guess it could be called war. I’m going on a date.” The smug bastard grinning beneath all that white.

Surprise takes Brock a moment more to ask, “but what about about the meeting? Marcel is going to be pissed if you skip out. You know how he gets.” Crosses his arms and tapping his fingers against the jar of paint, trying to look stern and failing miserably.

Delirious just grins.

Out of Brock’s line of sight, he can hear a giggle answer the unspoken question, ‘ _how do you plan on leaving that easily?’_ and a feels a grin so large he doesn’t have to see it to know its there.

The tails form right behind Delirious, just tips, just enough to wrap around his middle despite the heated protests of “I’m not done yet! I need more time! Let go you bastard!”

And then, just like that, he’s gone.

Brock rubs his forehead, he can already feeling the headache coming on. 

Then the knock comes on the door frame behind him, and makes the migraine begin to pound all stronger.

“Brock, where’s Delirious?” At his back, the question so innocent he really shouldn’t have his head in his hands but, goddamn it.


	4. Chapter 4

The halls are massive, long and winding corridors which seem to loop forever back inwards. It is a maze, a test of patience if nothing else, and Delirious is quickly and easily becoming hopelessly lost.

He shouldn’t have come.

This Kingdom is a foreign place, and though the reason he snuck in is debatable at best..

(You wanted to know what the Spades were like.)

But it is as he is turning the next corner that he sees him, sees the man with the owl mask.

Standing there in the darkness cast by a pillar’s shadow. Short of stature, but strong in presence. The faintest hint of muscle beneath silk and fancy ruffles.

The man is leaning on the wall and Delirious stops where he is when he sees him. Hesitant, wary.

(Cartoonz taught him well how to avoid the ambush laying in wait.)

He steps to the side, on the other side of the hall.

But the man doesn’t move. Content to stand there, to watch.

Delirious continues walking, no way left to go but forward, he knows what lays behind him.

And he is two feet from passing the shadowed figure when the man in an owl mask steps in front of him.

Blocks him.

The owl’s eyes are dark and haunting, menacing almost beneath that tall, slanted top hat.

But the mouth is exposed, and he grins at Delirious in a crooked way, one side lifting more than the other as he tilts his head to the side and says,

“Evening.”

Frowning slightly as Delirious fails to respond. “Should I tip my hat to such a fair lass, wandering our halls so lost and carefree?”

“I am not a maiden,” Delirious mutters, and tries to step around him.

But the owl is in the way again, having moved just as quickly. There is silence between them, before the man’s tone changes as he drops the act.

“You know who I am.”

“I know your reputation, Vanoss,” Delirious tells him, and that is all he really needs to say, because who doesn’t?

The grin falls from his face as he steps even closer to Delirious, mask tilting as he replies,

“And I, yours. You’re powerful. Strong.”

“I am a nobody, nothing,” Delirious evades, and tries to escape on the other side.

But Vanoss is there too.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Anger skirting the edges of his words as he presses even closer to Delirious, pushing him towards the wall, looming over him.

(“When hunting the hunter, you need to be still,” Cartoonz tells him.)

Delirious stills. His body trembles slightly with tension and Vanoss smiles, mistaking it for something else entirely.

“I have heard what you did to those monsters.”

His head titling to the side as he inspects Delirious, takes the sight of him in.

“They were demons, they deserved to die,” Delirious defends himself, back firm against the wall.

“We all have our own demons.”

Whispered. His arm slaps the wall just above Delirious and he leans in, looming by bulk alone.

“Some just choose to come out at night.”

And Vanoss is grinning at him, like this is a great secret he’s just shared, something to be treasured.

(“Be wary of the eyes that hide in shadows.”)

Leering at him, closing the gap between them as his face lowers, chin rises.

And there’s suddenly not enough air in all the world, and Delirious finds his chest is heaving, his heart is thundering underneath his skin. He struggles to find steady footing, leans further against the wall until he is flush with it and there is nowhere he can go.

His shoulders tense and roll forward, closing in on himself as Vanoss closes in.

Sharp toothed smile looking down on him, just as deadly and haunting as any alley beast would wear.

Vanoss whispers something under his breath, words that Delirious doesn’t try to pick up, but which have a certain melody to them almost.

And he is shivering, tense. Vanoss’ chest is huge compared to his own, all mass and muscle, and it presses him tight against the wall.

The feeling of being hunted rises again.

Vanoss’ soft breaths ghost across his face, he is this close and can get no closer. His lips close, then part, his tongue wets them.

Delirious touches his own thigh, and puts his weight on the balls of his feet.

(“You must be careful,” Cartoonz whispers, hunting, hiding with him in the underbrush. “Some monsters are like snakes, and hide their true nature.”)

Vanoss kisses him, open mouthed and insistent. Breath soft and warm, gently pressing. His tongue brushes against Delirious’ closed lips and

He bites.

Delirious strikes.

The knives falling from beneath his sleeves as Delirious kicks, once, to make room, and once, with full force, aiming true.

The quickest flash of silver in the air, three suddenly one after the other, (like the strike of a cobra) and Vanoss is suddenly on the other side of the hallway, injured and hurt, his body and pride.

Knives in his palms and sides, bleeding and in pain. He is hunched over, struggling to catch his breath and coughs out blood several times.

Delirious stands ready, knives again in his hands as he twists, balances his weight and prepares another attack.


	5. sand

It’s just before dawn, before the sun even has a chance to rise, and Luke is walking slowly down the stairs of their home, too tired to even use his magic to float. He shuffles his feet and trails one hand across the wall, humming to himself an old lullaby he can barely half-remember the words to anymore.

Jonathan is still fast asleep, deeply entombed in the pillows and blankets of their bed, and probably will be for hours more. 

He was still up in the kitchen, mixing potions and making the most beautiful liquid magic Luke had ever seen by the time the Cheshire collapsed in the bed, far too late to be called night and too early to be a morning.

But the things Jon can make, form or function they were always so beautiful to Luke. The way Jonathan could make magic move between his very fingers and fill to the brim a small glass jar..

Like magic was a sentient thing, a spirit, and it chose to haunt Jonathan exclusively.

A small spirit of light.

He should repay him. Somehow, Luke thinks to himself, for all the work Jon’s done. The plants winding around the house have never looked so lively since the small boy first came to Luke’s lonely cottage. The walls, the house itself never so full of life and cheery.

The sun had never shined brighter since he first met Jon..

A breakfast might be a small repayment for all that his life had changed because of Jon, but for now, in this moment it would have to be enough.

Just before the kitchen is a small alcove in the wall where a few old books and the like rest, and Luke stops before it to pull down the oldest looking one. A small tome Jonathan had been carrying with him when they first met.

He takes the red-backed, dog-eared book and opens it carefully as he walks into the pantry.

One particular page opens easy, the cover falling straight to it as if Jon had sat up for hours looking at this exact recipe, tracing his finger down the lines on the page, reciting the words under his breath.

Most of the ingredients Luke thinks he knows, but there’s a few unfamiliar words that he’s not really sure about, but they kind of _look_ like they might be something he’s got a clue about, so he just decides _fuck it_ and starts grabbing stuff off the shelves.

‘Linen and rice’..? Well obviously that’s supposed to mean lintel rice. And that next word he’s not really sure what it means, but there’s a handy little drawing next to it that looks like spinach, or maybe basil..?

Oh well. Greens are greens, he decides, and just starts doing whatever feels right. Grabbing the biggest pot from beneath the stove and chopping to his heart’s content. 

He hums under his breath as he dances across the kitchen, and soon there is a happy boiling mess on the stove, and something frying in the pans that smells sweet, an aroma that wafts straight up the stairs into the nest of blankets one floor up.

Jonathan twitches under the covers.

The smell is a smell he can remember, even in his deepest dreams, and it draws him to waking like the scent of the sea to a sailor.

The first thing he notices is how empty the bed is, his arm reaches and reaches but there is no warm body beside him, holding him, keeping him warm. There are a distinct lack of soft, rumbling snores making an under current through the air and the whole room simply feels colder without Luke.

Jonathan sits up and rubs his eyes until he’s awake enough to put some pants on, already wearing a loose over-shirt several sizes too big that falls past his hips.

The dawn has just begun to rise, and the whole room glows with light as he slowly makes his way downstairs, still yawning.

From the bottom of the steps he can see the reflecting light of candles and lamps dance from the kitchen, shades and shadows moving in a familar way though the fire light.

But..

Something nags at the back of his mind as he walks into the kitchen, tapping the wooden rack of books just above the kitchen door as he always does, every morning, as he walks in.

And finds Luke dancing to and fro, food and pots everywhere, so many spices have been pulled down from the rack and used and the scent is so overwhelming this close up and–

Luke hears him and turns, grinning, a spatula in one hand and a snarky comment on the tip of his tongue and–

The red book is sitting on the counter, pages stuck open by a well placed jar of olives and–

Jonathan’s potions and jars are hanging from the ceiling and sway gently in the breeze from the open window, so much contained magic and potential so innocently bound by glass and–

“ _That’s Alice’s spell-book!”_ Jon shouts, and lunges for the red tome, startling Luke into throwing his spatula into the air, and it crashes into quite a few swinging jars, and he’s jumping into the air before he can fully process what’s going on but..

 _It’s not good enough_ because the glass is flying everywhere and potions are mixing and the soup falls and spreads and light is sparking all across the floor up and down the walls and the ceiling is on fire, blue and smokey and it gets _everywhere_ –

There is lightning in the air, liquid magic snaking up and through him, through them both, so sudden that all Luke can do is open his mouth and breath it in and–

 _He’s gone._.


	6. sand

There is a hum thriving and living in the air, an undercurrent that ripples through Luke’s body in the span of time between when he is _there_ , and when he is _here_. There is a horrible sensation deep in his stomach, like he is being pulled from it and it makes him so queasy he has to fight the urge to vomit.

Deep down below his gut, the sensation tugs and pulls, as if he is being dragged by his belly through a tunnel of mud. This is _nothing_ how what it feels like to vanish as he so often does from place to place by use of his own instinctual magic.

He is in the air one moment, jumping away from the lightning and flames that lick and rip through the kitchen, and then in the next he is in _different_ air. Something that hums and thrives with magic so heavy and raw that he is left gasping just to breathe, face buried in the sand beneath him, body weighed down and heavy with _magic._

There is so much of it, everywhere around him.

Luke lands on his face, falling down into softness and heat, the dying fire slowly withering all around him, and down rains furniture, pots and pans, glass from broken bottles and _the goddamn soup_ spreading across the desert floor.

Heat burns through his skull.

A headache forms behind closed eyelids and Luke grabs his own hair and tries to bury his face in the sand, tries to bury _himself_ , he can already feel the beginnings of a wail that he knows is rising from within Jonathan, his tail puffs out from agitation and, sure enough–

“ _What in the hell!”_ Jonathan screams from behind the last licks of flame and burning rubble. “That was my favorite book..”

Sinking down to his knees in the sand, shirt billowing sharply in the breeze.

Luke glances up from behind his fingers. He really had expected more yelling to be completely honest. His tail twitches with agitation and frustration. How was he supposed to know that was a spellbook? Sure, the words looked a little funny and strange, but then, all words look that way to him.

At first he doesn’t see the bigger picture.

Luke looks up from his spot in the sand, overheating already, wrinkles of magic still lacing through him and all he sees is the destruction of what was once a beautiful kitchen. _Sure it’s all his fault but.._

Glass reflecting sunlight through sand, rubble, the soup kettle, pots and pans laying twisted and burnt everywhere he looks and he doesn’t realize it at first. All he sees are the pieces of paper littering the ground and he reaches forward, rising a little to snag one and, sure enough, it’s from that book.

Paper flitters all across the landscape, so many pages it would be impossible to collect them all, the sun is blindingly bright, and Luke is rising when he sees, past broken cabinets and counters, beyond the piles and piles of trash..

Nothing.

Nothing but sand and horizon and wasteland everywhere he looks and, _oh god_ , it’s the Mobi Desert.

“ _Delirious!”_ He screams, and runs to the man.

Or at least, stumbles through sand laced heavy with magic to where Jonathan’s head and arms are, the rest of him completely buried by sand. Blue sparks of Jon’s magic filling the air around him as he concentrates completely on fighting the sinking.

Luke falls to his knees before him, grabs Jon’s hands, and desperately tries to pull him out.

The sand is filled with magic, it always has been, and every soul in Wonderland knows to keep out of the Mobi Desert, you’ll be lost forever in the wasteland of sand and wild magic and _Jonathan is a human_ , he’ll be buried alive out here.

Luke tugs and pulls with all his might but Jonathan is stuck fast and still sinking despite giving everything he has until, finally, with both feet planted firmly in the ground, Jonathan’s chin already sinking below the sand, _he can’t loose him like this_ , he keeps a death grip on Jon’s wrists and fucking pulls until he’s afraid the guy’s arms are going to break off..

Finally. Finally Jon starts to come loose.

Blue magic sparking around them all the while until Luke screams, _“_ Don’t do that! _It’s making it worse!”_

And he stops. The air suddenly stills without the fierce crackle of popping magic and then, just like that, Jonathan is free.

His head is above the sand, his torso slipping past quickly after, then his hips and waist. His legs kicking away from the sand as Luke pulls him out and he scrambles for the only safe spot Jon can think of. _Luke’s head._

Crawling up his back on almost on top of him like a cat, sparking instinctively blue like he always does when he gets mad and yells, _“My book–!”_

Luke’s ankles sink below the sand and he screams, “Stop doing that!” Lifts into the air with what magic he can conjure, there is so much wild magic all around and everywhere it’s like trying to swim through mud he can only manage so much.

“We’re in Mobi,” he gets out before collapsing back down into the sand, narrowly managing not to embed his face in the soup kettle.

“I’ve heard of Mobi,” Jonathan utters from his safe perch on Luke’s back, legs fucking crossed and everything, but thankfully no longer sparking blue magic everywhere.

Luke spits sand out of his mouth. “It’s completely wild, and it doesn’t _like_ foreign magic. I can barely get any lift off the ground myself, it’s almost impossible to drag anything up here and I don’t want to know what will happen if I try to teleport.”

“And since I’m not native to Wonderland,” Jonathan continues the train of thought, then leans over Luke’s side to shout down at the sand, “Oh sorry I’m too _special_ for you to appreciate me–!”

“Goddammit!” Luke’s face sinks down to his ears and he’s jumping up and spitting out sand all over again and cussing up a storm while Jonathan just laughs and laughs, safe and content on his back.

“I’m sure you’d be fine if you stopped _insulting the desert_ and climbed down,” Luke mulls. “Not that I don’t appreciate having you all over me because, believe me, I _do_. But you’re heavy and it’s going to be a long walk back to civilization so please, get down.”

“Fine, fine,” Jonathan relents and, reluctantly climbs down. Still clinging to Luke’s back and shoulders as he carefully sets one foot, and when that doesn’t immediately start to sink, then the other down in the sand.

He is barefoot and his toes are burning already, so he asks, “How far do we have to go?” Because geography was never really his best subject.

Luke, who always has to know where everything is and where _he is_ to use his teleportation skills, answers with just, _“Far.”_

.

They bind Jonathan’s feet up with scraps of cloth left from half-burned wash cloths, because although he’s not likely to step on anything that would make them bleed, at least not beyond what they both affectionately label _the crash site,_ it still gets incredibly hot and walking on half-burnt feet as far as they will have to go would be an exercise in tolerance, to say the least.

Luke is more resistant to the sun, and was already wearing his socks if nothing else, so he refuses to be bundled up. He quickly wraps Jonathan’s head and face though, as the guy is too pale to be out here as is, and will quickly be burnt up like a tomato.

“We should take as many pages with us as we can,” Jonathan mutters mournfully over his lost book as he bends down and carefully gathers nearly a dozen loose papers.

Too many pages are too indiscernible to be really used, but Luke relents just the same and joins him.

There is enough left at the end of their rummaging through the debris to have to fashion a make-shift satchel with the hem of Jonathan’s shirt (that he refused to waste on his feet) and the ropes all the potions used to hang from.

Two bottles of water (which won’t last nearly long enough), some edible food, _the papers_ , and a few ingredients Jon insists on saving because he believes he can make some use of them still.

The sun is high in the sky by the time they start out, it’s nearly noon at least and will be a long and tiring journey back to _land_. Back whatever’s left of their home.

“I’m sure you blew out most of the kitchen,” Jon muses from his side.

And Luke grumbles, “Shut up.” Thoroughly embarrassed. Sure, it was all his fault, but did he really have to keep bringing it up like that..?

.

They walk for hours, days even. Mobi is so large it will take a while to get home. Time itself seems to be a ghost that dares not take any solid form out here in the wild lands of magic, at the border of Wonderland.

Jonathan managed to cast a spell to replicate their water a little, he always excelled at magic like that, just before sinking down to his knees in the sand and having to stop least he fall further.

The sun is a presence that has long since burnt their backs, heating them inside and out until even in their sleep, behind closed eyelids, they still see the light.

So hot, they burn with the remnants of the sun even in sleep, tossing and turning through sweat and sand.

Luke has long since stopped complaining, the simple act of moving takes all his effort now, they have been lost so long, he wouldn’t even know what there’s left to say that he hasn’t already said.

“We’re not lost,” Jonathan protests, and keeps walking. “All we have to do is go straight, right?”

“This kind of magic is making us get all turned around,” Luke mumbles, still walking. “It’s wild, it’s unpredictable.” Glancing behind him at the smaller man lagging a little.

Jonathan is always a few feet behind, legs dragging through the sand. His feet get stuck so many times, his ankles are covered in the stuff. His steps are shorter and he keeps falling behind.

By night they walk. By day they walk. There is no reprieve.

In sleep, Luke always stretches out on his back, one arm thrown over his face in a feeble attempt to keep out the light.

Jonathan rolls over again and again until he is a mess of sand and sweaty fabric all bunched and knotted around him. He begins to sink into the sand and has to be unburied when awoken.

Like a dog in the snow.

.

Eventually they make it home, but it takes a long time.

Dragging their feet through the dirt and grass, struggling to just to reach the door, they nearly have to crawl up the small hill their house is on.

The fur on Luke’s tail is all knotted and puffed up with fatigue and unease and all he wants _is to take a long long bath_ , crawl into bed, and sleep for ages.

But Jonathan is clinging to his back with sweaty hands, _they’re nearly inside_ , and begs, “Carry me.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” Luke grumbles and staggers to the doorframe.

Jon still has strength enough to wrap his arms around Luke’s shoulders and sag all his weight so Luke is essentially carrying him as it is when he reminds the older man, “It was _your_ fault the kitchen blew up.”

Luke scrunches up his face for the umpteenth time, as he always does when Jon reminds him, and the boy will never get enough of this, he’s really not that mad but _the faces_ Luke makes are hilarious as all hell to him.

“Come on,” he begs, still holding on, and leans close with hot sticky breath to whisper in Luke’s ear. “I think we’re due some make-up sex after all this, don’t you?”

“You think–” Luke quickly turns to look at Jon with wide eyes. “You think I have the energy for something like that after all that god-forsaken walking we just did..?”

Jonathan just smiles, and flutters his lashes. 

“Carry me home, old man.”

“For fuck’s sake!” Luke groans, and shakes his head. But picks up and holds onto Jon’s ankles as the boy has already climbed up his back and at this point that’s the only thing not wrapped firmly around him.

“Alright, alright. Let’s go home,” He says, rolling his eyes, and carries Jonathan across the threshold on his back.

“Plus the make-up sex,” Jon whispers in his ear with a shit-eating grin and leering eyebrows.

Luke just smiles.

“Yeah. That too.”

 

.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The original version of Chapter 4.

_We all have own demons,_ Vanoss tells him, pinning him to the wall with one arm and looming over Delirious by bulk alone. _Some just choose to come out at night._

Leering at him, closing the gap between the two of them.

And there’s suddenly not enough air in all the world and Delirious finds his chest is heaving, his heart is thundering underneath his skin. He struggles to find steady footing, leans further back against the wall.

His shoulders tense and roll forward and Evan is inching ever closer.

Grinning that sharp toother smile he’s seen all the monsters wear, lurking in the shadows and alleyways.

Monster? Friend or foe?

Shivers run down his back as vanoss presses even closer. Evans chest is huge compared to (the small human) his own, all mass and muscle.

The feeling of being hunted rises again. Beast in the underbrush. Belly of the heart of the.. Monster.

Evan is kissing him all of a sudden, breath soft and warm. Gently pressing, moving his lips along the stunned surface. Open mouthed kisses.

A tongue slips out and tries to slide between his lips, his teeth. But he’s not moving.

Waiting.. A hunter laying prone, trying to trick the predator. Lure him out..

Evan bites.

Delirious strikes.

Knives flashing through the air, drawing blood, he dances Vanoss cries out, and they separate.


End file.
